


Little White Li(n)e

by wookiees



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Drug Abuse, Drug Use, F/M, Fake AH Crew
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 12:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3381653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wookiees/pseuds/wookiees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Michael centric fic set in the Fake AH Crew verse. </p><p>When you live the criminal life style for a long time, you pick up on a lot of bad habits. Michael Jones is a killer, occasional cocaine user and every now and then Lindsay Tuggey's inamorato. And even though he picked this life for himself, he can't help feeling guilty for dragging others down with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little White Li(n)e

Drops of rain rolled down the windshield and pooled in a muddy puddle on the front bumper. Double-Oh Mogar had picked up some desert dust on the way into Blaine County, it’s shiny exterior revealed dirt and grime like any mirror would, which is why Michael was thankful for the rain since he’d pretty much blown any pocket money he would’ve spent to get his car washed on a gram of cocaine instead.

It used to be that Michael got a discount, back when he was flying solo and working for hire. He pulled a few jobs for the Lost MC outfits, both here in Los Santos and back in Liberty City and as a thanks for his services, they’d sell to him cheap. Michael had himself some powerful allies within said outfits but then Michael had decided, rather suddenly, that he didn’t like being anyone’s dog and took out a good quarter of their guys in a graveyard shoot out. With that move Michael made himself some shiny new enemies and had his coke prices shoot through the roof.

So he tried to quit.

Well there were more reasons to quit than just the pricing, one of which being that Michael liked the high but coming down was always a fucking nightmare. God, he hated the come downs. They made him absolutely fucking useless. Yet, Michael never seemed to remember how much the aftermath of his highs sucked when he was snorting the stuff. It was only the morning after when he was sore, depressed and completely on edge that he swore up and down he’d never touch a single grain again.

He sat in the driver’s seat of the chrome Adder, arms draped over the steering wheel turning the small bag of speed over in his hand. He remembered when he first picked up the stuff, it was back in Alderney when he was working with the mob, some lanky, fresh-faced, kid who worked on The Exchange had told him it was the drug of money-makers. Michael was young and dumb back then, so he bought it. There wasn't a job Michael would go on where coke wasn't a prime ingredient in one of Michael's bezerker fits. It's what made him animalistic and terrifying, without it he'd never brandish the title of 'Jersey Devil'. But Michael wasn’t addicted, he could go for weeks without a hit… If those weeks were good ones.

Radio Mirror Park was on, the volume turned down to the lowest notch, thunder rumbled somewhere in the distance and a small pack of coyotes scratched themselves across from his car in the abandoned lot that he was parked in. For Michael, good weeks usually entailed the brighter side of a successful criminal lifestyle, notoriety, cash flow, personal invites to clubs, fast cars. Not a damn heist to be planned or some innocent bystander to shoot, stone cold because they glimpsed his ugly mug. In the end no amount of shitty come-downs or escalated prices would stop him from taking a bump just so he’d stop feeling guilty.

Guilt was a side effect of not being a total sociopath, Michael decided. It meant he was at least somewhat sane, he should’ve been thankful for it but in the end all feeling guilty did was make him question if he really wanted to keep at this game. He’d been at it a long time, after all…

Michael popped open the tiny bag, dumped a small portion of it’s contents onto the back of his hand and brought it to his nose. The calming sound of rain and quiet hum of Living Day’s 'Little White Lie' was suddenly interrupted by the sound of his fruit phone’s ringer. He shook his hand free of white dust, not caring for the minuscule loss and reached for the cell phone.

It was Lindsay.

He turned the volume dial all the way down, cleared his throat and answered. ”Hey.”

"Hey," she chirped. "Where you at?"

"Uhm—" Michael couldn’t tell her the truth. Lindsay wasn’t stupid, she was as much a part of the crew as he was and knew that Blaine County was where you went to bury bodies and buy drugs that weren’t watered down for the hipster saps out in Los Santos. He just didn’t want to worry her, "Chumash, why?"

"I rented that shitty buddy comedy with James Franco and Seth Rogen and thought we could watch it at your place but if you’re out—"

"I’ll be there in fifteen minutes," he said, before she could finish Michael turned the key in the ignition and Double-Oh Mogar roared to life.

"Chumash is at least and hour away."

"Not the way I drive," he rolled down his window and tossed the small bag of cocaine out into the rain before peeling out of the parking lot.

"Don’t run over any old ladies, please."

"I can’t promise that," he chuckled, lead foot already pressing the gas pedal into the floor. "I’ll see you soon. Love you."

"Love you too." she said, then the phone clicked off.

Michael liked hearing those words said in Lindsay’s voice. They were intoxicating, much in the way of liquor and sweeter than any cocaine high but they too, made him feel guilty. The last thing he wanted for himself and Lindsay was some Bonnie and Clyde lifestyle. They could play at normality for now by watching shitty and controversial movies while drinking wine in his penthouse apartment but tomorrow they’d wake up to another run and gun somewhere in the city and repeat the cycle. Michael had picked this kind of life for himself because he was impatient and insatiable when it came to money and he couldn’t help but feel like he dragged Lindsay into all of this simply because he loved her…

What a shit thing to do to someone you love.

**Author's Note:**

> This was from my roleplay blog chrxmeadder.tumblr.com as a way to explore my headcanon of Michael being a cocaine user and his relationship with both his own backstory and Lindsay.


End file.
